Torn Apart
by Box
Summary: Insane. Weird. Never-ending, bunny hopping plotline. Starring Nagi. Poor doll, I'm abusing him so much. *sweatdrop*
1. Introduction

Torn Apart: Introduction  
By. Bento Box  
09/22/01 

---

*CRASH*

The antique China vase toppled over from the equally ornate desk. Slender fingers drummed distractedly on a glazed coffee table.

*BOOM*

The wide screen television was no more. The drumming fingers halted to reach up and push back the irritating strands of chocolate colored hair, and the sizzling circuits hissing from the blown screen didn't seem to bother the young boy.

*CRACK*

An oak chair imported from France suddenly collapsed underneath into itself as the legs gave way, and the splinters scattered all around the floor. Dark blue eyes glinted in the dim lighting.

*BANG*

Another vase, this time an actual original Tiffany, slammed into a nearby wall. Pristine white flakes fluttered downwards to join the shards. A rather large web of cracked paint was plain evidence of where the vase had struck.

The delicate webbing of the cracked wall suddenly brought an onslought of images that were not fully welcome.

---

_"Look in the mirror boy," the hissing voice was low in tone, but it screamed in the small boy's ear like an incoming train. "Such a pretty, pretty boy." The tip of a long pink tongue flickered out and carressed the delicate curve of the ear. The boy whimpered softly, the too large eyes beginning to border on an uncontrollable fear._

_"So sweet, and pretty aren't you?" The hiss turned into a purr and without warning, teeth clamped onto the ear, drawing blood._

_ The boy would have cried out if a fist hadn't suddenly blocked the cry._

_"Tsk, tsk, no crying yet," it crooned. "We haven't even begun to have fun, ne?" A low chuckle followed, and a hand trailed down past the fragile shoulder and around the wrist. The boy could feel his arm going numb._

_ Another sharp movement, and the mirror was shattered. This time, the boy was allowed to cry out, and his voice was hoarse and his tears burning as the blood dripped down from his hand._

_"Awww, poor, poor darling. Are you in pain now? Don't worry, by the time I'm done with you, you won't feel pain." A crushing kiss was initialized, and the boy struggled feebly, the pieces of his soul already beginning to break into shards._

---

A sharp pang of pain brought him out of his memory, and he realized he had been biting down on his lower lip. Blood now dripped from his lips, and he idly ran his tongue over the dark liquid, the bitter copper tasted filling his mouth.

He suddenly spasmed, and a violent lurch of his stomach had him staggering to the bathroom. The vile taste left in his mouth afterwards was a mixture of stomach acid and the bitter blood. He leaned against the bathroom wall, the coldness seeping through his thin shirt and into his flesh. He began to tremble convulsively.

Their last assignment had begun to tear at him slowly. That had been exactly five months and eight days ago.

He didn't know why he'd been able to last that long before the fine tendrils of his control bega to unravel. His teammates hadn't noticed anything, except maybe for his almost complete silence. Crawford hadn't even approached him, leaving him to assume that he had had no visions of his deterioration.

Today though, they would all know something was off. The broken shards of glass and wood would definitely be a loud, screaming clue.

He was lucky though. Only Schuldich and Farfarello would be his concerns for the present time being. Crawford had gone off on a business trip, and wouldn't be back until next Thursday. He wouldn't have to explain to his leader why he was slowly crumbling away. Yet.

Schuldich wouldn't be back until later on in the evening. He might have enough time to get rid of the mess, but not the cracks in the wall. Maybe a picture could be hung there?

That left only one member who he had to worry about, but at the same time, didn't truly need to.

Farfarello.

Farfarello had probably gone off somewhere to terrorize people. It was unpredictable when it came to when he'd be back, but he was the least of Nagi's worries. Farfarello never really asked questions.

Besides, he'd probably pass it off as a tantrum; tantrums hurt God.

A painfully ragged giggle burst past his dry lips. Was he spending too much time contemplating his members' personalities? Or rather, personality disorders? These past few days had been full of thinking, of thoughts, of never-ending scenes and memories.

If Nagi didn't know any better, he'd say he was going insane. Then again, he didn't know any better, so who was to say if he was truly going insane or not?

He closed his eyes against the erratic train of thoughts. Nothing made sense now. His orderly world, which had been so much like his beloved computer, was scrambled. A virus had somehow sneaked its way in, and was now slowly infecting every part of him. So painfully slow.

It all began with that damn assignment, the assignment where their client had an underground child prostitution.

So close to home.

He grit his teeth against that thought, viciiously lashing mentally at it. Damn these thoughts! He couldn't control himself anymore. He was falling apart, piece by piece.

Nagi's eyes snapped wide open, and the harsh light raked over his eyes, stinging them. He had to get out of here, had to go away. Had to, had to, had to.

Unsteadily, he rose to his feet, and stumbled out of the bathroom. He practically ran for the door, the fear and desperation inside of him choking his breath so that he longed for, craved for, thirsted for the cold air that awaited him outside the apartment.

He had to get away.

---

Author's Notes: Sorry if the introduction is somewhat decieving. As you can see (by the end of the intro) this fic isn't meant to be even remotely light-hearted or humurous. Long live angst. ;^^

Disclaimer for Torn Apart: I do not own Nagi, Farfie, Schu, Crawford, and etc. They belong to their respectful owner(s) and creator(s). Please do not sue me. I don't want to have to sell my soul to pay you. ;_;

Italics indicates flashbacks or bizarre mental voices; normal text indicates present tense or memories.


	2. Part One

Torn Apart: Part One  
By. Bento Box  
09/22/01 

---

The crisp, frigid air nipped at his flesh. The thin mesh shirt he wore did absolutely nothing to protect his delicate skin against the cold. He reveled in it.

A harsh wind struck him in the face and his hair was blown back harshly, the tangled locks flaring out around him wildly.

He didn't know where he was walking to, and in the dead silence of the street, he had no idea if he was even awake. It was as if he were in a hazy dream, the lightness of his body, the disembodied feeling of him putting one foot forward, and then the other, and again and again until they halted on their own. The dark head rose, and the prickle along his arms seemed to shake him from of his out of body feeling.

Goosebumps were now prominent all along the too pale skin. He ran a his tongue over his dry lips, and a faint copper taste still lingered there.

He turned slightly, and shivered. What the hell was he doing here?

The 'here' in question happened to be a church. Farfarello would have a heart attack and possibly ATTACK him if he had known Nagi was on the dreaded holy grounds of Him.

Around and around his thoughts went, but they always seemed to contain something of Farfarello. An empty smile stretched his face almost agonizingly, and he wondered yet again at his incoherent train of thoughts.

Perhaps the madman was rubbing off on him?

He chortled quietly to himself. The 'innocent' young boy slowly going insane. The childlike features twisting in insane glee. Maybe he should start running around licking his keyboard exclaiming, "STUPIDITY HURTS BILL GATES!"

The thought alone was amusing, but with the image and dialogue added in, he soon errupted into an almost hyseterical laughter. The laughter in the empty setting wasn't frightening, but the hysteria that laced them were. Tears, he didn't know what of, ran down his cheeks in hot streaks and his stomach clenched in pain from the now hysterical laughter.

He didn't know how, but he ended up on his knees and he could feel the bruises beginning to form beneath them.

"God is screaming right now."

The quiet voice rang like a hollow bell. Nagi could feel another bout of hysterical laughter bubble up in his throat. "But he's not the only one screaming."

The urge to laugh was cut neatly in half and Nagi's head jerked up to meet the single catlike eye.

"God is crying," the voice continued, "but he's not the only one crying."

Nagi felt the bizarre hysterical barrier begin to break and form into something else. His lower lip trembled.

"God is in so much pain, but...." Nagi's hands clenched, and the familiar dull stinging in his eyes returned. "..he is not the only one in pain."

Nagi unclenched his hands and he felt the desperation and fear fade away completely into something more uncontrollable.

"SHUT UP! JUST FUCKING SHUT UP!!!"

His scream was more bitter than the winds that now lashed out around his fallen form and the silent man before him.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"God is hurt."

"DAMNIT!!!"

The tears came fast and furious.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP! DO YOU FUCKING HEAR ME?! SHUT! THE! FUCK! UP!!!!!!"

"Another hurts more."

A memory assailed him, and he cried out in vain against it.

---

_"Are you screaming now little boy? Are you crying? Are you in pain? Are you hurting now, litle boy? Sweet, sweet little boy."_

_ The young boy's tears continued to trickle out although unbidden and unconsciously._

_"What's the matter little boy?" A hand stroked the silky, blood matted hair. "Are you broken now? Hm? Are you a broken little doll now?"_

_ The pain had dulled into a far-off throb long ago, but it was still there festering upon his basic emotions and feelings that was a curse of being human. The ability to feel the pain based on pure, natural instinct._

_ Something that couldn't be broken or torn away._

_"Such a sweet boy, so obediant and polite." The hand that was stroking the hair slowly entangled themselves between the locks._

_ 'But we've only just begun haven't we?" The grip in the hair tightened and a distant jolt of pain registered in his battered brain. He senses were reeling._

_"Oh yes, the fun has only begun!"_

_ The grip was now tearing at him, clawing and jerking his head upwards and the torture began once more, becoming the shaping of who the small boy would become._

---

"God's tears are raining down upon us."

As if the heavens agreed with his words, rain began to pelt downwards around him. First one, then two, and then three, and then more and more until the drops were thundering against the icy pavement.

"But another's tears flood the world."

Nagi's rage had dissipated along with the whispering memory. It was replaced by a numbing emptiness that filled his entire body, until he felt like a shell covering something dead inside. He felt so tired now.

A cold hand stroked his cheek and his eyes fluttered open to find the Irishman directly in front of him.

"The pain of others hurts God, but this one's pain hurts another."

Nagi leaned into the hand, his eyes closing against the sight of the bleach-haired man standing over him, like some poetic fallen angel.

A wet rustle, and he felt lithe arms wrap around him. "Never has there been such pain. God is dying slowly."

He could hear the slow beating of the heart against his ear, the deep beat lulling him into a different kind of numbness. His head was burrowed under the chin, touching the neck, against the chest with the scarred heart.

"God hurts."

---

Author's Notes: o.O I have no clue where all of this is coming from. Excuse the major angst/OOCness of the characters. Please don't flame me for this. x_x And also for the lack of Farfie's missing accent. ;P I don't do the whole Irish-accent thing very well, and I'd rather not deform and abuse the beauty of it by butchering it with my lame attempts of imitation. ;^^

Italics indicates flashbacks or bizarre mental voices; normal text indicates present tense or memories.


	3. Part Two

Torn Apart: Part Two  
By. Bento Box  
09/22/01 

---

The numbness broke free and he was crying again. It wasn't the hysterical, desperate sobbing of before, it was an emptying, relieving flood of tears that brought only a lightness with it instead of heaviness. But more memories began to stir with the torrent of tears.

He moaned into the soaked cloth of Farfarello's shirt, and found himself clinging desperately to the other man, as if for support.

"God cries, God cries."

The statement was a rasping whisper in his ears..

---

_A hand lazily ran through the now clean locks. It could have been weeks, months, years, since the beginning of it all, but the little boy had no clue._

_ Although, calling him 'boy' was an irony within an irony. He was no longer a mere boy; far from it in actuality._

_ The man whose name he still had no idea was, or might have willingly forgotten, wrapped a lean arm around his bare waist. A low purr rumbled from the smooth chest and fingers ran along the delicate hip bone._

_"You're such a good boy, ne? You're perfect, absolutely perfect. You're going to make me rich, aren't you? Men are going to kill to have you, to taste you. So sweet, my sweet boy." The man talked incessantly, and for the first time in a long time, he felt a flicker of something._

_ Irritation?_

_ He didn't know, but he just wanted the man to shut up. His thoughts stirred from their burnt ashes, and an almost shocking anger spread through him. He imagined a fist, an invisible fist with claws wrapping around the man's throat and just digging into the flesh. Biting, burying, and painfully deep._

_ A choked sound and a gurgle snapped the young boy back to attention. The man's arms jerked from around the boy and he began to claw at his own throat, as if something was choking him and he was desperately trying to break free._

_ The boy, not in the least bit afraid, edged away a bit to watch. What was going on?_

_ The man's eyes looked as if they'd burst forth any moment, and his mouth opened and closed. He seemed to be gasping for air._

_ The boy's seemingly innocent gaze was enraptured by the scene unfolding before him. Almost tentatively, the image of the clawed hands in his hands increased their pressure, and the man let out a silent choke. Blood began to drip down from his nose, and from the corners of his mouth._

_ The boy's eyes widened slightly, and realization slowly sank in._

_ The image in his mind went blank, and the man slumped back onto the pillows. He lay there unmoving, the blood running from him staining the white pillow sheets beneath his head._

_ He had...he had just killed him hadn't he? A queasy uneasiness filled him for a second, and then was replaced by a coldness uncharacteristic in someone so young as he._

_ He had suddenly found a power; a power that would help him most definitely._

---

One moment he was in front of a chapel, fallen onto his knees and in Farfarello's arms. Next, he was in a large, wide expanse of black space. His breathing was harsh and uneven, and as he came to, his thoughts were beyond befuddled and in a jumble.

The black space moved like liquid silk over him as his stirred gently, and with the slow return to reality did he realize he WAS in silk. A black, silk-covered bed to be exact.

"Ja, you're in my bed right now as a matter of fact," came the familiar, grating German voice. The somewhat blurry image of the fiery redhead was next.

"So wonderful of you to return to us kitten." Schuldig, from what Nagi could make out at least, gave him a small smirk.

Nagi closed his eyes, his mind still reeling. Why did he feel to lightheaded and hot? Argh, why was it so hot? He fitfully shoved aside the silk sheets, and even the welcoming cool air that met his skin wasn't enough.

The German made an exasperated noise in the back of his throat and dragged the silk sheets over Nagi again.

"You may feel hot, but your body is shaking right now, and you need to keep as much of your heat in you." The German's voice actually sounded chiding. Nagi couldn't muster up enough amusement to laugh at the thought--Schu, a mommy nurse?

The bed sheets were jerked up and under his chin almost painfully tight. Schuldig didn't take to kindly to the reference of "mommy nurse". This time, Nagi was able to crack a somewhat sadistic grin.

"If your stupid ass hadn't been out there in the blasted rain, you wouldn't have been in bed unconscious for two days straight, and Farfie wouldn't be destroying everything in sight right about now because of you. And I wouldn't be here."

Nagi dragged his heavy eyelids open and he gazed at Schuldig under exhaustion-induced sleepiness.

"Love you too shitface."

The jaded-colored eyes rolled, and Schuldig placed a mocking kiss on Nagi's burning forehead. "Ja, ja, rest well kitten."

---

Author's Notes: I know, I know, short part, but if I added more, then that'd ruin the next part. XP

Italics indicates flashbacks or bizarre mental voices; normal text indicates present tense or memories.


	4. Part Three

Torn Apart: Part Three  
By. Bento Box  
09/23/01 

---

The second time Nagi came back to reality, he felt better, more grounded so to speak. Although the flashbacks and previous activities had left him emotionally, mentally, and physically drained, he felt oddly lighter.

Something stirred at the foot of the bed, and Nagi weakly propped on one elbow to peer at whatever it was. Much to his surprise, he found Farfarello curled up on his side, clutching a knife. The Irishman's breathing was deep and steady, and Nagi blinked.

A tiny beam of light chose that moment to peek in through a slit in the curtain drapes, and spread across Farfello's face.

If it hadn't been immorally wrong against Farfarello, Nagi would have said he looked like an angel.

A decidedly strange, oddly dressed, and scarred one, but an angel nonetheless.

A wave of nausea chose that moment to strike and Nagi fell back onto the pillows. Lights flickered in front of his eyes, and his head was beginning to hurt.

But it had been worth it just to see that image of Farfarello looking PEACEFUL and INNOCENT.

Yet, even that perfect image was marred by another.

---

_The calculating eyes behind the thin-framed glasses swept over Nagi's fragile features. No emotions flickered over the cool eyes, but Nagi could feel a slight feeling of doubt from the older man before it disappeared._

_"Naoe Nagi."_

_It was a statement, not a question._

_"Hai."_

_He answered anyway._

_ The cool fingers reached underneath his chin, and he felt an involuntary shiver run up his spine. He hated to be touched._

_"So young, so innocent."_

_Even the voice was cool and emotionless, but nonetheless, it held an underlying tone of irony. "Yet so tainted and dark."_

_ Nagi's dark blue eyes flashed, but he said nothing, neither accepting nor denying the statements._

_"You've been accepted to join Schwarz due to your telekinetic abilities. But you will not be going on missions as of yet, for although you posess an amazing control over your powers, you will need to undergo further training to hone your talent to its fullest and most potent abilities. Training will be long in time, and grueling."_

_ Like a judge sentencing his prisoner's fate, Nagi could feel the weight of the American man's words clamp around his wrists, his feet, and every part of him._

_ Except the part hidden deep inside of him, the part that was always cackling softly and uncontrollably._

_ Still, Nagi did not feel any hatred, resentment, or anger towards the man. What they had offered him was certainly much more than what the streets offered him._

_"I will join Schwarz on its missions soon."_

_ The cold voice belonged to an adult of years beyond years, not to a seven year old boy._

_ Another piece fell off of him, and another brick around that hidden part of him as he mentally vowed to make the whole world pay for his pain that would never end. _

---

He shuddered out of the memory, and wondered briefly if this was similar to what Crawford might feel whenever he'd get one of his visions.

"Awake already kitten?" The German had stepped into the room quietly.

Nagi felt a wave of anger wash over him, and he didn't know where it came from. He shuddered, and tried to contain it, curling up into a tight ball, reminscent of Farfarello's position.

"Nagi?"

The voice actually sounded concerned.

"Nagi? What the hell's wrong? Nagi? Nagi?"

A hand clasped around his shoulder and he jerked instinctively, and felt the nausea return. He didn't want to be touched. He was impure to be touched. The touches were impure to him.

"Damnit Nagi! What the fuck has been going on with you? Fucking shit Nagi, don't make me force my way into your head!"

Schuldig was more than a bit pissed off by his teammates recent bizarre behavior, but there was concern there. Concern? Yes, that's what Schuldig felt now for the younger boy, although he would not go around telling the whole world that.

"God is crying again."

A tawny, golden eye blinked at Schuldig, the face impassive.

"Farf, do you know what the fuck is wrong with him?"

Farfarello did not respond, and his one eye turned onto Nagi. "God cries, and so do others."

The redhead felt like breaking something, and right then, Farfarello's neck would have been a perfect choice. "Will you shut the fuck up with your damn 'God hurts, God shits, God fucks' already?!" The redhead's words were livid and laced with acid. "Argh! Why the fuck didn't Brad tell me something like this was going to happen!"

Nagi felt hopelessly weak, and if he hadn't already been lying down, he would have fallen over. His body felt like liquid, and everything was floating around him.

Schuldig's hand was still on his shoulder, but the revulsion Nagi had earlier felt was gone. Now he felt empty, as always after the emotional attacks.

"What the fuck is going on..."

No one answered the German's muttered whisper and the silence suffused the room with its heaviness.

---

Author's Notes: Sorry again for this part being so short. Ah, this fic seems to be taking off all on its own, ne? ;;;^_^ More OOCness to come!

Italics indicates flashbacks or bizarre mental voices; normal text indicates present tense or memories.


	5. Part Four

Torn Apart: Part Four  
By. Bento Box  
10/14/01 

---

There was something fascinating about the way your chest would fall and rise in subtle movements as you'd breath in and out.

There was something calm with the way silence took the form of one sleeping; peaceful and content on the outside, but inside there was always a wagering war of demons that had torn their way through from the outside world.

And they would test your control, test your perceptions, test everything about you.

About him.

It's not as if he cared though. He was above caring, above feeling, above the tears that had long gone dry.

It wasn't long before he was accepted, before he passed through the flaming gates. Everything ended, and he looked all the more innocent on the outside when the world welcomed him back into its reality.

He had forgotten how the sky could suffocate and smother him.

Many people only saw the delicate features. The childish, girlish features that made him an easy target or easily mistaken for something he was not. People always assumed. It was by human nature to give one another personalities and judgments.

They judged him innocent. Untainted. Unstained.

He had lured them so easily, so sadly, and so pathetically. He wanted to weep and scream at them to see who he really was--but the tears would never come.

They only saw the small, elegant hands and fingers, now knowing how stained they were. He was not untainted, not unstained and not innocent.

How many deaths had been caused by those hands? His invisible hands, wrapping around a neck.

Suffocating.

They didn't see the wild look in his eyes when the leash was loosened as time held its breath, and then the mask would slip back on again and his eyes were wide and guileless; so cold and dead inside.

They would stand too close to him, their bodies accidentally brushing against his, and he would almost scream, but he always choked it back. He resisted the wailing of the demons inside of him, pounding against his walls to let them free and to kill those who had touched him.

He couldn't though, because that would jeopardize his...no, their cover.

He wouldn't let the rest of Schwarz touch him at first, although that hardly mattered to the German redhead he was introduced to.

The German had been taken in by surprise when they had first met. Nagi had felt a pressure around his mind, and without warning, his walls were shattered, and the images flowed forth in a pulsing ascension into a spiraling dance.

It was Crawford who had saved them both, dragging them kicking and screaming, from the brink of utter madness.

_'How...how can he control it? His sanity....'_

There was no answer.

The German's tortured thought had leaked into Nagi's mind because they were somehow still connected.

Schuldig had given him a wary respect then, but it was carefully masked by the German's flaunting and flighty personality.

Nagi was not the only one with masks and walls.

Schuldig ceased to pry into those areas of his mind, but he would skirt the surface of his thoughts, or other certain, less dangerous areas.

Later that night, the first day as a complete Schwarz member, Crawford had approached him in his newly appointed room. The stoic man warned him of their residential psychopath, the Irishman. Nagi was not to approach the Irish madman alone, he was not to enter Farfarello's premises under normal circumstances, and if he did, it was always with Schuldig or himself.

And he was not to mention God or anything pertaining to religion.

Nagi nodded, not questioning or asking anything. Crawford seemed pleased by this; curiosity was not a good trait in this field.

Nagi didn't much care for God anyway. He had never been religious, and that whole "God has a reason for everything," was a load of bullshit in his eyes.

What could be the reason for shattering innocent souls? What was the reason for the screams that could never be voiced, and the tears that could never be shed?

No, he didn't care about God. Any god.

But the warnings were turned into a blurry haze when Nagi first met the Irishman.

Nagi had always shied away from any unnecessary human contact, always felt the torrents of near-madness tremble inside of him if he felt someone was standing too close.

But Farfarello had this... air to him. This magnetism that drew Nagi, and he had watched from a distance, admiring silently

The scars were not hideous, but marks of beauty. A unique touch, that was delicate and deadly all at the same time. The skin that was not touched by scars was smooth and flawless. A pale, perfect porcelain that inspired him to want to touch it. To place a light, gentle touch on the slender wrist. Just a touch.

Farfarello had been busy rearranging his knife collection, which back then, wasn't quite as impressive as it was now. He had been rearranging it on the kitchen countertop, and the delicate brow was furrowed in concentration. Abruptly, he had looked up, and a single golden eye glittered back at him.

Nagi flushed then, the first real reaction besides aloofness and politeness he had otherwise given. The ice in the shroud around him melted a bit under that glowing gaze, and he murmured something unintelligible, and forced himself to walk with some sort of dignity and serenity from the room.

He got the feeling Farfarello knew that he wasn't calm.

As he walked away, he could feel his skin tingle all over, and his flush deepen. The gaze penetrated through the cloth on his back, and it was a blazing sun.

He could see the golden eye and parted lips easily in his mind.

---

Nagi felt the cool dampness of a soft cloth pressing over his forehead, cheeks and downwards in a gentle stroke over his neck. Mind still envisioning a golden eye and an elegant wrist, he unconsciously grabbed for the hand that held the cloth.

A humor-filled chuckle warmed his cheeks as he identified clearly who it belonged to. The voice was sweet, innocent but with a lecherous note in it.

"Now, now, we have fun next time, hm? When your 'boyfriend' isn't with us and glaring at me, ready to rip my throat out." Schuldig chuckled again, and Nagi just knew his face was burning a bright red by now.

He cracked an eye open tentatively, and when he felt safe that his vision wasn't going to turn temporarily blind, he opened them both. He gave the German a mildly annoyed look that was mixed with embarrassment, and felt his flush grow when he looked over the redhead's shoulders to find the object of his memory standing there, glowing and glowering.

"Ah, chibi?" His eyebrow twitched in annoyance at the pet name "You better let my wrist go, ja? Before Farfie there decides he's had enough watching and not enough hurting God...and me."

Nagi's flush, if possible, deepened and he muttered something incomprehensible and let the wrist go. Schuldig flashed him an impish and purely evil grin.

For a moment, Nagi felt as if everything was normal, or as normal as things could be in Schwarz.

The wistful thought was carried away though, and Nagi fell into a depressive silence once more and the paleness returned to his cheeks.

Schuldig gave an internal sigh. "I'll just go get you some food, ja? Pocky for dessert, ne?" He rose from the bed, and left the room quietly, shutting the door behind him.

Nagi played with a loose thread in Schuldig's bedcovers, and would have fidgeted uncomfortably under Farfarello's gaze had he not felt so numb.

"Why?"

Nagi's head jerked up, surprised at the soft, but clear question that cut the silence smoothly. He gave Farfarello a perplexed look.

"Why what?"

But Farfarello was silent again.

Nagi gazed at a blank spot on the wall, his attention focused on it, and yet, beyond it.

"I used to cry all of the time you know...."

His own voice surprised him, but the words haltingly spilled forth. He didn't see Farfarello's eyes narrow, or when the Irishman leaned back against the wall, the golden eye trained onto the small frame of the younger boy.

"I used to be able to cry easily. And the tears wouldn't stop, Farfie, they would never stop! They went on and on, and the pain...." His voice dropped down to a whisper. "The pain was neverending...and he loved it. Loved to see my tears and my cries and my pleas...but then...it all stopped." Nagi shuddered, suddenly cold and hot at the same time.

"I made it stop. I made it all stop and...he didn't laugh anymore. But I couldn't cry either. I was so lost and trapped inside...."

Nagi gave a violent spasm, and he whimpered, curling onto his side, balling up.

The words were halted, and Nagi knew that was all he could say for now. His face was wet again, and he almost wished that he still had the inability to cry. The pain was so fresh and fierce.

A slender hand ran through the silky strands, and the room was silent.

Outside the room, with a hand on the doorknob, Schuldich stood, his usually flirtatious and teasing leer frozen in an expression of revulsion, anger, and inexplicable guilt. He had seen the images, the memories, and the violating caresses as Nagi had spoken out loud.

He hated his ability to see and feel these things.

And he hated the fact that he could do nothing to curb Nagi's pain.

He hated it all.

He hated it.

And there was nothing he could do....

---

Author's Notes: I finished it. Yay. ^^; I'm just reaaaaally getting OOC, ne? Gomen, gomen. This is one of the best things about being a fan fic writer--you can go really, really crazy!!! Mm...I blame it on my chocolate Pocky. XD In any case, hope you enjoyed this installment! ;^_^ Farfie-sama only knows how long this will be...or how short. @_@

Italics indicates flashbacks or bizarre mental voices; normal text indicates present tense or memories.


	6. Part Five

Torn Apart: Part Five  
By. Bento Box  
01/01/02

---

_He felt light again. He felt as if he was floating on a cloud and as his feet moved to slide from the bed, he felt as if everything had become the soft shadows of darkness._

_And as he moved from his shadowy resting place, he felt oddly empty._

_As if someone had gone in and cleared everything out inside of him. He wasn't sure if he liked it, but a voice inside of him whispered why wouldn't he? He couldn't feel anything so why would he care if he liked or disliked?_

_The voice confused him so he shut it out. It buzzed softly inside his ears._

_Shadows started to shift as he made his way out the door and into the dark hallway._

_The floor was cold and with each step he felt his feet start to turn numb._

_The shadows began to shift faster and he suddenly felt the barest of touches along his skin. He started to feel cold, and the numbness of his feet retreated slowly as if being drained away._

_He suddenly realized with a startling clarity that he was wandering in a dark hallway with nothing but a thin shirt and shorts on; the cold started seeping in and the temperature dropped._

_He stopped then, frozen in his place. He stood there, slowly beginning to shiver with the bumps upon his flesh rising._

_Then the chiming began. The soft tolling of bells in the distance. It began to grow louder and louder. The distance seemed to close in around him and the ringing seemed closer._

_He felt something glide past his cheek, and he turned his head to follow it._

_The hallway had become a dead-end and he stared at the door now in front of him. He hesitated, a foreboding feeling washing over him, but he wasn't able to stop himself from taking one step towards the door._

_Then another._

_And another._

_He couldn't stop himself from reaching for the knob._

_He couldn't stop the screaming that was torn from him once he had opened the door._

_He couldn't stop the flow of images that flickered and slashed at his eyes like a hurricane._

_He couldn't stop._

_Couldn't._

_Stop._

_Himself._

---

He couldn't see anything when he opened his eyes and his breathing was uneven, coming in with short gasps and breaths.

He wasn't even sure if his eyes were open. Everything was so dark.

"Farfarello?"

The name slipped out into the blackness, disappearing into the invisible arms of nothing. He uttered a small whimper and wished the darkness would go away.

As if something had heard the silent wish, the darkness began to recede around him and he began to feel the slight movements of his body once more. He felt the blood rush through his fingers, cold and numb spikes driven away by the newfound heat brought forth by movement.

The sheet that slipped from around his shoulders weighed and felt like nothing.

There was no light to guide him except for an uncontrollable instinct inside of him that told him to move and whispered to him to get up and stand.

Like a programmed machine he walked, gliding across the floor with soft feet slowly growing cold.

_"Mommy once told me I was a bad boy."_

He stopped in his tracks, blinking in confusion.

_"Daddy once told me that I was too pretty to be his son."_

His eyelashes fluttered as the world began to spin around him.

_"Mommy didn't tell me she loved me."_

What was going on? He felt so... so dizzy....

_"Daddy made me bleed."_

His lips moved in a silent plea. Where was Farfarello? Schuldich? Anyone. Someone.

_"Mommy watched me cry."_

The world began to tilt and his body swayed, trying to adjust to the strange alterations in his surroundings. He stood shakily on his feet.

_"Daddy made me want to die."_

He had nothing to brace on and he was falling again... falling....

---

The clock ticked far off in a corner of the room.

There were no lights, only darkness and shadows.

Outside the door footsteps echoed hollowly against the floor, and then there came a soft scratching at the door. The sound of metal sliding into the hole whispered quietly in the room, and there were murmurs as the lock opened with a soft click.

Light streamed in from behind, illuminating the faces and figures in dim halos.

Cold blue eyes flickered briefly and a silence fell among the figures.

Silently and swiftly, like the breaking of the calm before the storm, they rushed to the fallen figure on the floor. The chest was heaving so shallowly and painfully.

The clock continued to tick in the darkness.

---

Author's Notes: Oooookaaaaaaaay theeeeen. ;;o.O That was just bizarre. XD; If you guys can't seem to understand the way I write, I'll try to ease your confusion... I write in an abstract way. *nods* So everything I write is unexplainable, weird, and flat-out inexplicable. ^_^; That is, it's weird, unexplainable and confusing to those of you who aren't as equally weird and twisted as me. *^^* Until next time... ADIOS PEOPLE! XD; *Box is simply a strange, strange, _strange_ child*

Italics indicates flashbacks or bizarre mental voices; normal text indicates present tense or memories.


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